


Always to Walk in Armor

by Jenshih_Blue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 01, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-23
Updated: 2012-07-23
Packaged: 2017-11-10 13:53:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/467033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a heated argument with Dean, Sam takes a drive through the village of Justice. While on his excursion he meets up with someone who opens his eyes to the truth of love, life, and ultimately death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always to Walk in Armor

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the 25paranormal challenge on Live Journal

 

 

It seems that it is madder never to abandon oneself, than

often to be infatuated; better to be wounded, a captive, and

a slave, than always to walk in armor.

 

~ Margaret Fuller (on love), Summer on the Lakes

 

***

 

Chicago in winter could be quite unforgiving in its harshness, the winds whipping across the icy surface of Lake Michigan, and down the streets. It hadn’t earned its nickname ‘The Windy City’ for nothing, but here far from the shoreline in the village of Justice just fourteen miles from downtown Chicago the sharpness of those frozen winds could almost be forgotten. Almost forgotten, but never quite dismissed. Much like the argument Sam had ran from tonight.

He and Dean had come to Chicago at the request of an old acquaintance of their father’s who had a friend here on the south side of Chicago that owned a bar. Said bar had suddenly been the center of wild speculation by the locals and although the idea of being the owner of a haunted bar had been fun at first to Blake O’Brien, now it had become a terrifying reality. Unexplained fires, after-hours attacks on the employees, and finally an attack on Blake’s own son Aidan, that had led to a broken arm, had sent him in search of answers. Apparently John believed his sons were the answer to Blake’s ghostly problem and he’d sent them a text message consisting of a phone number and a name.

That simple text message had been the beginning of a tension that had only grown between Sam and Dean as they worked the problem. They’d only been on the road for a little over two months and despite the fact that Sam was still grieving for Jess, he’d sought out comfort in Dean’s arms just as he’d done at seventeen. At first Dean had been hesitant which Sam understood. After all the last time he’d opened himself to what others would call a fucked up relationship with his younger brother Sam had left after a year for the hallowed halls of academia. They’d just begun their tentative, revisited relationship when the text message had appeared from John. Sam had argued that they needed to be searching for their father not chasing elusive spirits in Chicago, but Dean ever the obedient little soldier, not to mention owner of the Impala, had overruled Sam’s argument with one well placed glare.

So there they were in Chicago freezing both their proverbial and literal asses off in the snow swept city in early January. They’d met Blake and his son, Aidan, at the bar ‘The Four Leaf Clover’ and though Sam had left much of the talking to Dean just out of sheer spite, he’d caught the eye of Aidan. Aidan was six feet of svelte muscle with shaggy strawberry-blonde hair, crystalline Caribbean blue eyes and a junior at the University of Illinois Chicago. He was a theater major and had dreams of becoming a Hollywood star. He and Sam had hit it off immediately, both being ‘college-geeks’ as Dean had put it with no small amount of sarcasm. Whether Sam had done it consciously or subconsciously he couldn’t say, but at every opportunity he’d made sure that Dean knew that Aidan was gorgeous and gay.

They’d been in Chicago exactly a week tonight. It’d been exactly a week since Sam and Aidan had seemed to form a fast friendship with hints of what more it could be. And tonight Dean had finally had enough. As soon as they had returned to the small motel just off the Tri-State Tollway Dean had set off on a rant that had Sam so furious he couldn’t see straight. Even now the echo of Dean’s words drilled straight through Sam’s brain like a pike.

***

 

"What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

 

"Doing? Well I was planning on doing some research."

 

"That’s not what I fucking meant and you damn well know it, Sam!"

 

"Look, I don’t know what crawled up your ass and died Dean, but I’m fucking cold, hungry, and I have too much shit to do rather than deal with your sudden PMS, dude!"

 

"Aidan."

 

"What about Aidan?"

 

"Jesus fucking Christ, Sam! Do I look stupid? Just because I didn’t go to some stuck-up university doesn’t mean I’m stupid or that I don’t have eyes!"

 

"I don’t have a clue what you mean."

 

"You know, Sam…this…us…you’re the one who wanted to pick up where we left off four years ago. You’re the one who begged me to understand. You’re the one who said you…fuck it! Could you throw yourself any harder at Aidan?!"

 

"You’re kidding---right? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me! There’s nothing going on between Me and Aidan! Fuck, Dean! I want us…only us!"

 

"That’s not what it looked like tonight. I saw you two in the upstairs office, Sam! I’m not fucking blind!"

 

"Nothing happened!"

 

"I saw him getting all up on you! And do you know what I didn’t see, Sam? Care too fucking guess?! I didn’t see you pushing him away!"

 

"Nothing fucking happened, Dean! Nothing!"

 

"Jesus, Sam! When did you become such a slut!"

 

***

That had been the moment when Sam had thrown his arms up, grabbed his coat, the keys to the car, and headed out the door, slamming it behind him. As he’d pulled out of the parking lot he’d gave the rearview mirror a glance and what he saw almost made him stop and go back. Dean was standing at the door staring at the car’s taillights with a forlorn expression on his face, but Sam told himself if nothing else he had to get away from that room, away from work, and more than anything else he needed to get away from Dean.

That had been an hour ago.

He’d just spent an hour driving aimlessly around Justice, trying to figure out where his life had did a U-turn from what he wanted to what everyone else wanted. Teeth gritted he turned onto Archer Avenue as he swiped at his eyes. Dean was wrong it was that simple. He didn’t want Aidan, he just wanted---hell he had no idea what he wanted. All he knew was that he was tired of walking through life in an invisible suit of armor, pretending everything was fine when it damn well wasn’t. Jess was dead, school was a moot point, dad was missing, and any hope at a safe happy life had went down the fucked up drain of fate right before his disbelieving eyes.

As he glanced up he noticed movement from the corner of his eye and he nearly lost control of the car, doing a quick correction he slowed the car and pulled off to the shoulder. Leaning across the seat he pushed open the door and called out to the forlorn figure that was wandering through the plowed snow, mounded along on the edge of the road.

"Miss? Miss are you---okay?"

The figure turned and he sucked in a soft breath. She couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen, her hair in soft bob of loose pale blonde waves surrounding an oval face with high cheekbones, and her eyes were a clear azure almost to pale. There was a deep sadness in her eyes that caused Sam’s chest to constrict and he swore his heart skipped a beat as she gracefully moved closer to the car.

"Ummm…I…do you need a ride? It’s awfully cold out there to be walking anywhere."

She blinked, long golden lashes shimmering in the halcyon glow of the [street lights](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=street%20lights), brushing her pale cheeks. Her lips twisted for a moment, as if she were about on the verge of sobbing and then they parted with a soft sigh. "That would be nice."

Sliding into the car she shut the door behind her, eyes focused on the silent street. Sam studied her with curious eyes and noted that she had no coat. She was wearing a white moiré [evening dress](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=evening%20dress), tiny rhinestones sparkling among the layers of delicate material. As she shifted in the seat he noticed the back was open and again he wondered how she’d come to be here on the edge of the road, dressed like this, no coat, and in the icy darkness.

"My name’s Sam." He held out his hand.

Those pallid woeful eyes focused first on his offered hand and then her gaze drifted up to meet his eyes. "Mary." She spoke, her words laced with a faint accent, and then turned back to the frosted windshield. "My name is Mary."

Sam was beginning to wonder if perhaps she was in shock, her skin was so pale, and her pupils were blown wide. "Mary," he began, "…are you okay."

"I’m fine. Thank you for asking."

Shifting the car into gear Sam cleared his throat. "So where are you headed?"

"Home."

"Where’s home, Mary?"

"4215 South 81st. My father is expecting me."

Sam nodded, glancing in the rearview mirror, and pulled out onto the street. "Okay. So do I keep going north on Archer?"

She nodded, her gaze lowering to her lap where her hands clutched a small rhinestone bag. "Yes, Archer is good."

He drove for a few minutes the car silent, glancing over every few seconds to make sure Mary was still there, and then finally he pulled the car over with a frustrated sigh. As the car came to a stop Mary turned looking right through him with those wide haunted eyes and Sam shifted in the seat so he was sitting facing her. "Did some one hurt you?"

"No." She looked confused for a moment, almost lost. "I left the ballroom."

"The ballroom?" Sam asked.

She nodded. "The O’ Henry. There was a dance tonight and I went there to meet Colin." Her gaze lowered back to her lap where her fingers were nervously twisting the small clutch. A single tear trailed down her cheek as she released a soft sigh, a shiver traveling the entire length of her body as her fingers tightened in the sparkling material.

Shrugging out of his coat Sam leaned forward and she jerked back with a faint gasp. "It’s okay. You just looked cold." As he wrapped his coat around her a tiny smile twitched at the corner of his lips. "My mother’s name was Mary." He wasn’t sure why he’d said it, but he had.

Mary blinked and a sad little smile curled her soft, pink lips. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." He pulled back his smile widening and then it began to fade at the thought of those worn photographs in his father’s journal. "She died when I was a baby."

"I’m sorry." Mary tilted her head, a soft loose curl falling over her eyes.

Sam shook his head. "It’s okay…I really don’t remember her."

Reaching out with one delicate small hand she touched his knee. "At least I had my parents, but…" her voice cracked.

"What?" Sam’s brow furrowed.

"Nothing." There was a hint of sadness in her voice.

Sam didn’t know why, but this waif like girl had entranced him. There was an ethereal quality to her, a frailty that reminded him of Dean although he had no idea why. He had the almost unbearable desire to help her, to save her so badly, but from what he didn’t know. "It’s not nothing." He spoke softly as he reached out the tips of his fingers grazing her chin, tilting her face upward so their eyes met. Her skin was so cold, he thought, as he shifted closer to her, the cold leather of the seat creaking beneath him. "Tell me." Sam whispered.

"I never appreciated them." Her words were so soft he almost missed them. "I never told them I loved them."

"But you still can." He squirmed uncomfortable beneath her grief filled gaze. "I mean…tell them how you feel. Let me take you home and when you get there…go to your mom and dad. Tell them how much they mean to you." An image of John formed in his mind and he remembered the last time he’d seen his father, the harsh words that had been spoken in anger and frustration.

"Can I?" Mary’s eyes seemed to grow larger, far brighter than they’d been moments before. "Do you have anyone…anyone you love that people don’t approve of? Someone that’s your entire world? Someone whose very presence makes the pain of living just fade away?" She questioned, her voice trembling with so much emotion it made Sam choke up.

He did have that, he thought, he had that and he’d always had it. From his earliest memory he’d had that kind of love, he’d known that kind of love, and right now he was feeling like an utter shit that he’d stormed out of that motel room. Dean was that love. He’d always been that love. As a matter of fact for him the definition of love had been discovered in the depths of those lush hazel eyes that reminded Sam of the verdant leaves of late summer. Leaves that were such a deep green that at times they seemed black.

"Yeah," he finally said, "…yeah I do."

"Have you told them that you love them?"

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing erratically, and felt himself falling into her eyes. Shaking his head he blinked back the stinging itch of tears that threatened to fall. "Words are…"

"Just words." She finished and then she turned away, the rustle of her gown overtly loud in the silence of the car. "Please…I need to get home."

With a quick nod, Sam turned back, knuckles white as the snow that had began to fall again outside the warm metal embrace of the car. Turning the key he shifted into drive and pulled back onto the snow dusted asphalt and began to drive. A part of him, the part that had hunted for so long seemed to whisper in his ear as he drove along Archer, but he couldn’t quite hear the words it spoke. There was no doubt in his mind though that the voice sounded incredibly like Dean’s.

***

As he drove the snow fall began to thicken, the wipers of the Impala grunting in protest as he forced them to sweep away snow, and brittle bits of ice from the glass in front of him. Next to him Mary was silent and still, her gaze focused on the slowly passing street beyond the frost slick glass of the passenger side window. Sam glanced over at her once and in that split second he thought she reminded him of a story he’d read once as a child---The Snow Queen. She seemed composed of ice and snow, all pale slender limbs, and sparkling jewels that were carved from the clearest of ice.

That particular thought brought him back to Dean. He remembered sitting in bed, fever exhausted and wrapped in thread bare blankets in some anonymous motel in Wyoming and it was three days until Christmas. He’d only been six or maybe seven and at that point his entire world had revolved around his [big brother](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=big%20brother). Dad was gone more than he was there, but he’d still believed that John had loved him. That’s what children do---they have faith---even if the person in question might not deserve that belief. The gift Dean had given him that night was still tucked away in a side pocket of his duffel.

***

 

"Dean when’s dad coming home?"

 

"Soon, Sammy."

 

"Why can’t we have a Christmas tree?"

 

Dean flashed a childish smirk. "But we do have a Christmas tree."

 

"No, we don’t?" Sam pouted, big eyes glistening, and disbelief clear in his voice.

 

Rolling his eyes Dean had helped him out of the bed, making sure the blankets were tucked around his body and guided him to the single window in the motel room. He pushed aside the heavy curtains and pointed outside. "See that?"

 

Sam shuffled to the window, pressing his sore nose against the cold glass, and coughed, his breath fogging up the glass. Just outside the window at the driveway into the parking lot was a lopsided Scotch pine, the falling snow gathered on the rich green needles and the big [pine cones](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=pine%20cones) that clung to the branches. Someone had strung lights around it, nothing fancy, just big bulbs of red, blue, green, and orange, but for Sam in that moment it was the most magical thing he’d ever seen.

 

His eyes widened as he turned to Dean sniffling. "Did Santa do that for me?"

 

"Yeah, Sammy…yeah he did." Dean had then pulled his hand out from behind his back and held out a tiny bundle wrapped in newspaper, a frayed red ribbon tied around it. "Merry Christmas, brat."

 

His smile widened as Sam had taken the gift, with tiny pudgy hands, and he sat down on the floor, blankets swallowing him. He’d carefully removed the paper and ribbon as if they were the most precious of jewels to reveal a small carved wooden knight in armor. It was primitive to say the least, but to Sam it was perfect. Dean had carved it himself from a piece of white pine with the [pocket knife](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=pocket%20knife) he always carried.

 

"It’s Lancelot." Dean explained, no small amount of pride in his voice. "I know how much you like King Arthur so…" his voice trailed off a rosy blush coloring his cheeks and making his freckles stand out. "Anyway…"

 

Nearly tripping over the blankets in his excitement Sam had engulfed Dean in a fierce hug, clutching the knight in one chubby fist. "You’re the best big brother."

 

Dean snorted. "You’re a pain." Despite his words he’d reached up stroking Sam’s tangled curls and smiled. "Merry Christmas, Sammy."

 

***

"Here!"

Sam jerked from his memories and hit the brakes, the car skidding on the damp pavement and leaned down peering out the windshield. "Where I don’t see any…"

Before he could finish his thought Mary had pushed open the door and slipped from the car. Pushing open the driver’s side door Sam leapt from the car into the every increasing snow storm, cutting around the front of the car, and through the harsh brightness of the headlights. This was crazy, he thought, as he stumbled through the mounds of snow, his hand shielding his eyes from the harsh wind blown snow.

"Mary!" He screamed into the darkness. "Mary!"

He caught a glimpse of a fleeting figure in white up ahead. Picking up speed he headed up along the edge of the road, the snow soaking through his sneakers, and numbing his feet. Maybe he’d been right. Maybe there was something about Mary that wasn’t right. He stumbled as he ran feeling like a clumsy teenager again, all long graceless limbs, and the snow catching in his lashes and blinding him momentarily.

"Mary! Come back Mary!" He screamed over the howling wind. "There’s nothing here!"

He stumbled again, falling forward, this time on his knees the snow soaking through his jeans, and numbing his bare hands. Panting and out of breath, Sam looked up and blinked snow from his watering eyes and finally realized where he was at. Clumsily getting to his feet Sam moved forward on frozen legs and stood staring at the tall concrete pillar that was directly in front of him, rising up into the swirling snow.

A simple three-dimensional cross emblazoned the huge square pillar and beneath the cross the words ‘Resurrection Cemetery’ were chiseled in the concrete. On either side were tall bronze green gates, closed and locked for the night, and then two more gates on either side of that between matching square pillars. Those gates were locked as well and the faint shape of a concrete walkway showed from beneath the gathering snow, huge trees and snow-covered hedges followed the straight line of a [wrought iron fence](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=wrought%20iron%20fence) that disappeared in either direction in a solid straight line to his left and right.

Swallowing harshly, the icy air burning his throat and nose, he moved closer to the gate and reached out grasping the bars, the metal cold and unforgiving beneath his fingers, and pulled himself closer. He peered from beneath his wet hair through the bars seeing the distant shape of what he assumed to be a mausoleum beyond the circular driveway and two rows of trees. Their branches were bare except for the blinding white of the snow and reached upward like the decaying skeletal fingers of some long dead giant.

Beyond the gate there was no sound except that of the wind, howling through the winter blackened limbs of the trees. He searched the darkness and then he saw the distant movement of a white draped figure, the wind whipping the material around the lone figure. It paused and turned for a moment and though he couldn’t see the figure clearly through the darkness and the snow somehow he knew it was Mary. For just the span of a heartbeat they stood staring at one another and then she turned, fading away into the darkness.

Suddenly Sam was colder than he’d ever been in his life, his blood turning to liquid ice.

***

Dean paced the motel room, hands shoved deep in his pockets, and chewing on his lower lip nervously. He hadn’t meant what he’d said to Sam earlier---not really. It’d just been that he’d been---well pissed was a good word because Dean Winchester was never scared. He was a hunter, it was who he was, what he was, and hunters were never scared. He shook his head, running his fingers through his hair until it stuck up every which way and then he turned eyeing the window.

Never in a million years could he have imagined that Sam would take ‘his’ car and leave. And now with the storm being this bad he tried not to imagine the worst possible scenarios, but each time he tried to close his eyes images assaulted him. Images of Sam crashing the car and ending up in a ditch, bloodied and---

God stop it, Dean, he chided himself. Sam is going to be okay. He’s going to come back and then when you’re sure that he’s okay you’ll kick his sorry gigantic ass for taking your baby.

Just then he heard the familiar rumbled of the Impala’s engine over the wind and his chest tightened for a moment. Heading for the door he yanked it open, snow swirling in and he was hit with a blast of glacial wind. Sam glanced up as he closed the car door and their eyes met across the short distance that separated them. The relief he felt at seeing Sam turned to worry when he noticed his soaked sneakers and jeans, the snow glistening in his hair and along the rim of his lashes.

"You son of a bitch!" He yelled taking a step forward. "You stole my fuck…"

Before he had a chance to finish his rant Sam’s body slammed into him like a runaway locomotive, his huge hands cupping Dean’s head gently, and his dark eyes searching Dean’s face as if he were trying to memorize every feature. They just stared at one another for the longest moment, the snow and wind swirling around them in a sparkling cascade of freezing cold, then Sam smiled his eyes glistening. The look in Sam’s eyes caused the breath to catch in Dean’s throat and he licked his lips nervously.

"Sam? Sammy?"

Sam released his grip on Dean’s hair and pressed his fingertips against Dean’s lips, the warmth of his breath thawing Sam’s frozen fingers. "Don’t." He whispered.

Then Sam was leaning in and he took Dean’s mouth in a slow sensuous kiss, his tongue hot and hungry pushing past Dean’s shock parted lips. As the kiss continued Dean forgot why he’d been so mad before. All the anger and jealousy drained from his body and he lifted his hands, threading his fingers through Sam’s wet, tangled hair as Sam walked them both backward towards the motel door, never losing contact with Dean’s lips.

As soon as they were past the door, he kicked it shut causing a swirl of melting snow to scatter across the carpet and then Dean broke the kiss. He searched Sam’s eyes and what he found there was everything he’d hoped to find. There was a questioning look that spoke of Sam’s need to be forgiven for being a fool, then there was need and desire, burning brighter than any star could hope, too. Dean slid one hand down along the side of Sam’s face noting how cold he was to the touch and he frowned with worry.

"Don’t." Sam whispered again.

Suddenly they were on the bed, Dean sprawled across the mattress and Sam’s weight pinning him down. Their mouths met again in a clash of teeth and wet, soft skin and Sam’s hands were moving, searching and then finally sliding beneath his tee shirt. His calloused fingers grazing along hot, smooth skin stretched across muscle and bone. Struggling against the desire rising in the pit of his stomach Dean squirmed until he was sitting up Sam practically in his lap.

"Dean, I’m so…"

This time it was Dean’s turn to say the word. "Don’t."

Then they were both tugging and pulling at cotton and wet denim, seeking out warm skin, and flexing muscles, arms and legs curling around one another. They fit together like two pieces of a puzzle, perfect and the kiss this time was desperate and filled with so many things.

I’m sorry.

It’s okay, man.

I want you.

Me, too.

Touch me.

Yes, no one else.

I need you.

I love you.

All those thoughts, emotions, and not a single word spoken. Just the taste of skin, mouths, the scent of desire and need strong in the warm cocoon of air that curled around them thawing Sam’s cold skin. Dean flipped Sam over and looked down into his brother’s eyes, pupils blown wide making them look black with a growing fire. His fingers played across Sam’s high cheekbones, the soft indenture of dimples that were there even when he wasn’t smiling, and traced the contour of perfect lips to finally come to rest in the faint cleft in Sam’s chin, his thumb rubbing over now warm skin. Dean smiled as he stretched and reached for the [bedside table](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=bedside%20table), tugging out the drawer clumsily, his gaze never leaving Sam’s. When he found what he wanted he pulled back grasping Sam’s hand and slipping the small tube into Sam’s warm palm.

Sam blinked and turned his head, gaze widening when his fingers curled outward revealing the tube. He turned back to meet Dean’s eyes with a look of confusion. "Dean?" His voice was hoarse with cold and need.

"I want this." Dean leaned in his lips ghosting over Sam’s, tasting the specter of cold that was quickly fading. "I’ve wanted this for a long time."

Sam lips stretched in a wide smile, one that Dean had lived to see day in and day out for twenty-two years. It was the promise of that smile that had kept him going when all else failed. He was nothing without Sam and now he knew that on some level Sam felt the same way. He could see it shining in his brother’s eyes like a promise.

Gently Sam rolled him off and over so that Dean’s back was to his chest, planting soft kisses along Dean’s freckled shoulder. "I’ve never wanted anyone else…not like you." He growled low and deep in his throat, one hand tracing over Dean’s flank. "I’m sorry it took me this long to show you."

With careful hands he pulled Dean’s leg up and over his hip, his cock sliding up along the crease of his brother’s ass causing them both to moan softly. Dean’s head fell back against Sam’s broad shoulder, his eyes drifting shut against the sensation of Sam’s long, graceful fingers sliding against the smooth skin behind his balls and back to settle against the heat of his opening. "God, Sammy…please, fuck me."

And then Sam’s slicked finger was pushing forward to penetrate Dean for the first time.

***

Sam was overwhelmed by the feel of Dean’s body tightening around his fingers as he thrust first one and then another up inside him. The heat was like an open flame as he thrust and curled, searching out the one spot he knew would have Dean begging him for more. When he found that single spot there was no doubt because of the choked cry that escape Dean, causing him to thrust back, his back bowing away from Sam’s body, that was answer enough.

"Shhh…Dean it’s okay." He whispered against Dean’s ear as he caught the lobe between his teeth, sucking gently. "Let me show you how much you mean to me."

Sliding his fingers from Dean’s clenching body he groaned as he fumbled for the discarded tube, lost in a sea of tangled sheets. After a few moments his fingers closed over the tube and in record time he slicked his cock up, his skin so sensitive he nearly came from the touch of his own fingers. Sucking air through his clenched teeth he tightened his fingers around the base of his erection and counted to a hundred praying that he could get control of the fire that was building to explosive proportions. The entire time he counted he could hear the soft whimpers escaping Dean as he thrust his ass back clumsily seeking out what he’d lost.

"Sam…Sammy…please."

His entire body shuddered and Sam lost count somewhere between forty and fifty. Swallowing hard he gave in to the desire building between his quivering thighs and allowed his eyes to drift open. As he did Dean rubbed back against him and it was almost too much all over again.

He loved Dean so much that it ached. It wasn’t that he hadn’t loved Jess, but Jess was something different. Something that didn’t even come close to the passion, the need, and the want that flowed through his veins like molten lava. Dean was the forbidden fruit and the serpent rolled into one beautiful package. And he? He was the equivalent of Eve tempted by the serpent to taste the forbidden fruit. There was a soul burning sweetness to this act. They, he and Dean, were each other’s world now. Orphans not in the traditional sense, but they were orphaned never the less.

"Dean." Sam leaned in his lips pressing against the sweat dampened line of Dean’s jaw. "I love you more than I ever thought possible." With those words he gripped his cock tightly in his shaking fist and guided himself into Dean’s trembling body.

Again Dean’s head fell back, his mouth contorting in a scream of pain and passion as his hips bucked back against Sam. His hand scrambled desperately across his sweat slicked skin searching for something, anything to hold on to. He found it as with a desperate cry of his own Sam slid in with one swift thrust and his hand slipped over Dean’s heaving chest, his fingers folding over Dean’s in a damp steeple of flesh. They lay there for what seemed an eternity and then Sam began to move, sliding back through the tight warmth that squeezed insistently around him and then thrust forward again. Slowly but surely they found a rhythm that worked for them both and Sam sped up with each demanding needy growl from Dean’s lips. Soon they were wrapped around each other so tightly that they seemed to merge into one and that was fine with them both. They’d been one soul since they both could remember, one soul split into two bodies.

That first time didn’t last long for either of them as they panted harshly and cried out incoherent words in some language that only they could understand. The sound of sweat slicked bodies slapping against one another and that harsh breathing the only sound in the room. Dean fought and twisted trying to find Sam's mouth and somehow he did. Just as they devoured one another’s mouths they both came together. Sam deep inside Dean’s body and Dean without ever touching himself, cum splattering his chest and the sheets beneath them.

Finally they collapse against one another still exploring each other’s mouths lazily with swollen lips and darting tongues. As they drifted down from the rush of adrenaline and overpowering pleasure Sam slipped from inside Dean causing him to hiss. Carefully he pulled Dean over so he was on his side, one leg draped over Sam’s and his head resting beneath Sam’s chin. A pleasant silence descended over the room and outside they could hear the wind howling through the eaves of the building and through the skeletal tree branches. Dean traced one finger through the perspiration that dapple Sam’s chest, spring dew against honey gold silk, and he sighed contented for the first time in too damn long to remember.

"Sam?"

"Yeah."

"What happened?" Dean shifted up on one elbow looking down in Sam’s satiated eyes, lids heavy with exhaustion.

Sam frowned for a moment, but decided it took too damn much energy. He sighed softly and blinked to clear away the haze at the corners of his vision. "What do you mean?"

"What happened out there, dude?" Dean waved his hand towards the drape covered window.

A tiny smile twitched at the corner of his lips as Mary’s words came back to him.

 

"Have you told them that you love them?"

 

"It’s a long story, Dean. I’ll tell you in the morning." He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to Dean’s lips. I have now, he thought, as he pulled Dean down into the cradle of his body with one arm. "Let’s get some sleep. There’s something I need to do in the morning."

Yawning Dean let his eyes drift shut. "What?"

"Got to get my coat back." Sam mumbled softly as he drifted off to the sound of Dean’s gentle breathing.

***

They were standing outside Resurrection Cemetery, Dean glancing at Sam with a curious expression, arms folded on the roof of the Impala, and chin resting in the cradle of his arms, the metal cold, but warming up in the afternoon sun. They’d gotten a late start, but considering everything that had happened the previous night that wasn’t surprising in the least. Sam had layered himself in his heaviest hoodie and tee shirts, both long and short sleeved to try and keep out the bitter cold. Despite the hood being pulled up his bangs were whipping wildly in the sharp wind, his cheeks wind burnt from the cold, and his eyes narrowed as he tried to pinpoint the spot he’d last seen the ghostly Mary.

"Resurrection Cemetery?" Dean finally spoke up, straightening and walking around the front of the car and joining Sam in the driveway. "Sounds familiar, but why are we here?" He thrust his gloved hands deep in pockets of his [leather coat](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=leather%20coat).

Sam turned and smiled at Dean. "Like I said I have to get my coat back."

With a soft chuckle he headed through the open gate, thankful that he’d both worn his boots today and that the plows had been through already. Behind him he heard Dean grumbling about his state of sanity and his smile widened. It had been nice, Sam thought, waking up next to Dean and feeling that warmth radiating off his skin and the familiar scent that made him think of home mixed with the musky scent of their night together. He’d never imagined that Dean would ever have given himself to him like he had last night. Dean being Dean had always seemed to be the top in any relationship.

Stepping over the edge of the curving driveway Sam headed across the cemetery grounds, the fresh layer of frozen snow crackling beneath his boots. Row upon row of monuments stretched out in the blinding brightness of the snow and all he had to go by was that final glimpse of Mary before she’d vanished into the snowy darkness. After he’d walked for some time, weaving through monuments buried beneath drifts of glistening snow like frozen rhinestones. He stopped in his tracks, closing his eyes and inhaling through his nose, the cold air burning his sinuses. He knew he wasn’t going crazy, he knew that last night had happened. He’d seen her, felt her, and spoke with her.

"Yeah!"

Sam jumped and turned, flashing Dean an annoyed frown. "Don’t do that, Dean. You scared the crap out of me."

Dean chuckled. "I just remembered where I’ve heard about this place, dude. Resurrection Mary."

Eyes widening Sam cleared his throat. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on Sammy. Resurrection Mary is one of the most famous and most confirmed phantom hitchhiker stories out there." Dean frowned at the strange expression that flickered through Sam’s eyes. "Shit, dude! You picked Resurrection Mary up? Oh, man that is so…"

"Shut up, Dean. I just need to find my…"

His voice trailed off as he saw a monument a few yards away, a dark shape fluttering from it in the frigid wind. He started across the cemetery without another word and behind him he could hear Dean calling his name, but the lure of that fluttering dark shape was stronger than Dean’s voice. When he reached the monument he realized the dark shape was exactly what he thought it’d been---his coat.

Reaching out with trembling hands he pulled his coat from its perch on the monument and revealed a sculptured angel. His eyes widened as he recognized the face that was upturned to the brilliant sun. It was Mary, his Mary, that he’d picked up along Archer the night before and his throat tightened. He knelt in the frozen snow his gloved fingers brushing the windswept snow away from the age pitted marble. Behind him he could hear Dean’s hesitant footsteps, his boots crunching in the snow.

"Sam? You okay, man?"

Sam sighed softly his gaze moving over the name plaque. And read the epitaph aloud, his voice steady yet filled with sadness. "Beloved daughter and sister, Celestyna Jolanta Jankowski. January 21st, 1916 – January 1st, 1935. May she find a peace among the stars she did not find upon this earth. "

His fingers traced the engraved letters worn smooth by the wind and rain, his gaze drifting up to study the sculpted angel. She was beautiful. Her arms were lifted upward a star cradled in her palms, a long flowing gown trailing out behind her, and exquisitely detailed wings spreading out behind her as if in flight. Slowly he got to his feet, snow clinging to knees wet and sparkling.

"Sam she’s been gone for a very long time. Whatever happened last night won’t change that no matter how hard you wished she wasn’t." Dean reached out his hand warm and heavy against Sam’s shoulder. "Most of her family is probably dead as well."

"She was only eighteen." He finally spoke, his voice husky with emotion.

Wrapping his arm around Sam’s shoulders he guided him away from the monument. "We have to finish up with Blake and then we can…"

"4215 South 81st ….she said her father was waiting." He turned to Dean and Dean stopped in his tracks, his arm dropping away from Sam’s shoulders. "We have to go to the address."

Dean shook his head. "Sammy her father couldn’t still be waiting not after all this time." He flashed Dean his best kicked puppy expression and Dean groaned. "Sam…"

"Please."

A frustrated sigh escaped Dean. "You are a pain in the ass."

Sam’s only answer was a radiant smile that rivaled the freshly fallen snow around them.

***

South 81st street was a residential neighborhood filled with houses built at the turn of the last century most of them brick with small front yards. In spring Sam imagined the yards would be emerald green and perhaps filled with a profusion of colorful flowers, but now they were covered in glittering snow. He stared out the window as Dean steered the Impala down the street peering at address plates either next to doors or on the pillars that held up snow laden roofs. There were children laughing and playing, making snow men, snow forts and Sam figured school was out due to the storm the previous night.

"Here!" He yelled as his eyes alighted on a brick house with a narrow brick porch and [wrought iron](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=wrought%20iron) railings.

Before Dean even brought the car to a halt Sam was out and up the steps. As he stopped at the door he took a deep breath, noting the name on the plaque above the mailbox---Jankowski. They were still here, she had family still living here in the same house she’d been raised in and his heart thumped wildly. He had no idea what he expected, but he knew he had to know what had happened to her. She’d looked so sad last night, so lost, and he had to understand.

"What are we doing here, Sam? What is it you’re looking for?" Dean ground out through chattering teeth.

"I’m not sure." Sam whispered as he lifted his hand, his finger hovering over the doorbell.

Dean shifted stomping snow from his boots, his hands pushed deep in his pockets. "Look, Sam like I said whatever happened last night nothing is going to change. She’s been dead for over sixty years."

He turned looking at Dean with loving eyes. "You’re wrong, Dean." The corner of his lips curled in a soft smile. "Everything has already changed." Turning back to the bell he pushed it, the chimes echoing behind the frosted glass of the front door.

***

A petite red haired teenager answered the door, her wide blue eyes taking in first Sam and then Dean and she whistled. "Who are you?"

"Paulina who is it?" An elderly disembodied male voice drifted from the rear of the long narrow hallway.

"Don’t know gramps!" She winked at Dean and then turned her sparkling eyes on Sam. "So who are you?"

Sam smiled. "I’m Sam Winchester and this is Dean. We’re students at the university, history majors, and we’re doing research on local families here in Justice."

"Damn," the girl snickered, "…I can’t wait to go to college now." She turned and headed up the hallway, motioning them to follow. "College students they’re doing something on local families."

"Well, invite them in Paulina. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out there and I’m sure they’d like a nice hot cup of coffee."

Dean chuckled as he closed the door behind them. "I think I might like him."

Rolling his eyes, Sam headed down the hallway towards what he assumed was the kitchen, past a dark wooden staircase that led to the second floor. He paused, studying the framed family photos some yellowed with age and others from modern portrait studios. There amongst the photos was the one he knew somehow would be there---Mary. Alongside her were generations of the Jankowski family and his chest ached with what he’d often longed for. He was drawn from his contemplation of the photographs by Paulina popping around the doorframe and waving them through into a brightly lit modern kitchen.

At a [breakfast nook](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=breakfast%20nook) a stooped elderly man sat with thick snow white hair and a weathered nut brown face. "Welcome. I’m Mikolaj Jankowski." He nodded to Dean and then met Sam’s gaze with familiar pale blue eyes. He studied them both for a moment and then waved them to take seats. "I’d get up, but I’m not as young as I used to be." He nodded at a heavy wooden walking cane that was leaning against the wall. "Paulina, my granddaughter started the coffee it should be done in a few moments."

Sam slid into the booth seat and Dean slid in next to him. "I’m Sam Winchester and this is Dean. We were wondering if we could speak to you about the history of your family. It seems that they’ve been here since the incorporation of Justice as a village in 1911."

"Yes, we Jankowski’s are a hearty stock." Mikolaj nodded thoughtfully. "Of course don’t you think you should tell me the real reason you’ve come to see me." He smiled, his face crinkling.

Swallowing hard Sam met Mikolaj’s pale blue eyes. "I don’t know what you mean, sir."

Mikolaj chuckled, a raspy sound as he reached for a box of Lucky Strikes. "Look, son we can beat around the bush a bit more or we can just get to the meat of the matter." He shook a cigarette out and brought it to his lips, lighting it up with steady hands, and then glanced up from beneath shaggy white brows at Sam as he shook out the match, tossing it into the ashtray. "See son I’m used to young ones like you and your friend coming here. It’s been going on for neigh on seventy years. Mary she’s a stubborn one and she refuses to go where she needs to be. Of course after seventy years I imagine she takes some amusement in scaring the bejesus out of the boys." He chuckled softly at Sam’s expression. "So when did you pick her up?"

"Last night." Sam glanced at Dean whose face was set in an indifferent expression.

"Not really surprising. She’s always more active during these weeks." He inhaled and tapped off the ash in the ashtray. "I’m taking you went back to the cemetery and that’s how you know who she is. Did she give you the address?"

Sam nodded, a look of confusion in his eyes. "I just know that I’m here for a reason, sir. She wanted me to come here, to learn something."

Nodding Mikolaj crushed out his cigarette. " I think maybe this time Mary found herself a kindred soul. Well let’s see what do you want to know?"

"What happened to her?" Dean finally spoke up.

"She died alongside that road, died slow and painfully. She was a victim of a hit and run." He sighed a rough, sad sigh. "Never did discover the bastard that did it. You see Mary was my older sister, older by eight years. Back then families were larger…lots of kids. Me I was the baby and back when Mary died I was ten."

Leaning across the table Sam propped his arms on the table, resting his chin in his palms. "Who’s Colin? She said something about Colin."

Mikolaj chuckled. "Colin McGwire well all be damned she must have really liked you, son. She doesn’t usually talk much to those folks that pick her up along Archer. Colin was the reason my parents kept Mary on a tight leash. They wanted her to find and marry a proper young Polish man, but Mary had other ideas. Fell in love with Colin at first sight. He worked with our father on the barges over on the I & M Canal."

Frowning Dean leaned closer. "Look I’m not saying your lying, but we were at her grave and her name wasn’t Mary it was…"

"Celestyna Jolanta Jankowski." Mikolaj finished. "You see our parents were from Poland, immigrants out of Silesia, and even though they weren’t in Poland they clung to the old ways. Now Celestyna was born here so she was American and damn proud of it. She refused to go by Celestyna when she was out with her friends. She had dreams of becoming the next Mary Pickford out in Hollywood so she went by Mary among her friends. Just tore up our mother

being as Mary had been named after her own grandmother. Mary didn’t care. She was carefree and spirited. A girl to be reckoned with in a world where women were thought to be better off barefoot and pregnant." A small smile curled Mikolaj’s thin lips. "Now that I’ve seen the changes in the world I’d say that Mary was born in the wrong time."

Sam shifted in his seat and glanced up at as Paulina sat a mug of rich black coffee down in front of him. He smiled softly. "Thanks."

She blushed and nodded a quick acknowledgment then sat a matching mug in front of Dean and one in front of Mikolaj. "Gramps?" She questioned with a curious expression. "Are you talking about great-aunt Mary?"

Mikolaj chuckled, reaching out and patting her hand. "Yes, we are Pauli. Would you like to listen?"

She gave Dean and Sam quick darting glances and nodded. "Sure."

"Then pull up a chair and you can listen to an old man’s ramblings."

***

Once Paulina was comfortable, a mug of coffee in hand, Mikolaj began his story. His pale blue eyes, so like Mary’s shining with memories of another time. He sipped his coffee slowly and stared out at the small backyard, the snow undisturbed and dazzling in the sun.

"Mary was a beauty both inside and out. So filled with love, life, and joy. She was sixteen when she first met the man she would fall in love with---Colin McGwire…"

***

It was early spring in Justice that day. The trees were just beginning to leaf, bright fresh greens, and despite the stray remains of winter the sidewalks were lined with hyacinths and daffodils. Mother had been suffering from the lingering affects of a fall in the backyard some weeks before when ice still slicked the side walks so on this particular day she’d ask Mary to deliver our father’s lunch down to the canal.

The moment she walked onto the docks her sparkling ice blue eyes focused on the most handsome man she'd ever seen or so she claimed. Colin McGwire was one of the barge workers. Colin was what Mary always referred to as Hollywood handsome and if anyone knew Hollywood handsome it was Mary. She pinched and saved, spending money on those movie magazines with pictures of all the latest Hollywood heartthrobs, men like Errol Flynn. He was a big man, stood a few inches over six feet with broad shoulders, and he was what they called black Irish I think. He had thick wavy coal black hair, dark eyes, and a rich accent. You see Colin had come over on the boat just four years before at the age of fourteen, so his homeland still clung to him.

I remember that day as if it happened yesterday even though I was just eight years old. She came home so excited our mother thought she was being silly. From that point forward she went to deliver father’s lunch at any given opportunity. The attraction was mutual and being a gentleman Colin presented himself to father some months later and asked to court Mary. Of course father was not happy in the least that Mary had been secretly speaking with what he referred to as ‘vulgar, hard-drinking, men’. Mary being Mary though refused to take no for an answer. In front of father she accepted his decision to decline Colin’s request, but she and Colin continued to meet in secret while she allowed our father and mother to set up meetings with good Polish boys.

Mary had plans though of her own. She and Colin would spend hours planning out their lives. Being as Mary was only sixteen in the beginning they decided to wait until she was eighteen to be wed and start their life. Our oldest brother Andrzej though discovered that they’d been meeting in secret sometime around September of ‘34, Mary was eighteen by then. Colin and she had planned to leave in the spring of ’35 for the warmer climates of California. Mary could pursue her dream of being an actress and Colin his dream of being an artist.

It wasn’t to be though.

When Andrzej told our father about their secret he confronted Colin. Colin didn’t lie. He told father that he loved Mary with all his heart and soul. And though father admired Colin for his truthfulness he still disapproved. He demanded Colin cease his meetings with Mary, but Colin didn't despite allowing my father to believe that he had. He and Mary came up with a plan and they continued to see one another in secret.

Father discovered they were still seeing one another shortly before Thanksgiving of ’34 and used his influence on the docks to get Colin fired. At this point Colin was at a lose as to what to do. He no longer had a decent job and he had to dip into he and Mary’s savings to survive. By Christmas Eve it was a tense situation in our home and Mary barely spoke to father or to mother. After we retired that night somehow Colin got a message to Mary.

Meet me at O’ Henry’s December 31st at 7 pm.

Of course Mary being the optimist that she was, not to mention being a woman in love, assumed that Colin wanted to meet her to propose. For the next week and a half Mary, who worked at a local seamstress’ part time, also worked in secret on a special gown for that night. O’ Henry’s was having the New Year’s Winter Ball that night and Mary had stars in her eyes.

That night she argued viciously with father and left the house to meet Colin, taking a cab to the ballroom. It was the last time we would see her alive. Those that were questioned by the local police later said that Mary was like an angel that night, clothed in white moiré and shimmering rhinestones. She left her coat at the coat check and entered the ballroom in search of Colin. We could only speculate what happened after that, but we decided that she more than likely saw Colin with the woman he’d been with that night.

Her name was Brigid and she had long flowing black hair and dark eyes, dressed in emerald green silk. Colin and Brigid were sitting at the open bar that O' Henry's always had. Those who saw Mary leave noticed it was right after Colin placed a kiss on Brigid’s cheek. She fled the ballroom without ever speaking to Colin. They discovered my sister in a ditch along Archer Avenue the following morning. She’d been killed by car, the driver leaving her in the ditch, her body broken and her white gown soaked with blood. I found out when I was older that Mary had been pregnant with Colin’s child.

The worst part of the entire thing was afterwards, when we laid her to rest in Resurrection Cemetery. Brigid the woman Colin had been with that night was his cousin who had married a wealthy financier. She was there to meet Mary and to give Colin and Mary a [wedding gift](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=wedding%20gift), a check for six thousand dollars to help them make the trip to California after Colin proposed.

***

"Mary died believing that Colin had found another love. Her heart broken." Mikolaj sighed as he shook his head. "Colin approached our father at the funeral and handed him an envelope. In that envelope was a letter along with an address and a receipt. Colin had found a job working at a monument company as a sculptor. He was well paid and had planned on proposing that night. The savings that he and Mary had compiled he used to pay off the funeral expenses for the family and the monument at her grave…"

"Colin created it---didn’t he?" Sam swallowed hard, staring down into his coffee.

Mikolaj nodded. "Yes."

"So what happened to Colin?" Dean spoke up.

"Colin had a rough few years. Colin had heard the stories that motorists told of a mysterious young woman along Archer. They began almost immediately and he was convinced that it was Mary’s spirit. No matter how many times he roamed Archer though Mary never appeared to him.

Five years after my sister’s death he met his wife Fiona. She was the complete opposite of Mary in looks, but she was a good woman. Colin passed away in ’99 at the age of 75. His wife Fiona died six months later."

Sam ran his fingertips along the rim of his cup lost in his thoughts and then he felt Dean’s hand on his thigh, warm and heavy. He glanced up to meet Dean’s worried eyes then turned to Mikolaj who was studying them with an almost knowing gaze. "So why is she still here?" He whispered softly. "Why stay?"

Grunting lightly, Mikolaj shifted in his seat and reached for the cigarette pack, shaking one out. "I can only guess, but being an old man now and seeing these people who find their way here…well I imagine that she is a [guardian angel](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=guardian%20angel) of sorts. So many of those who find their way here after seeing Mary they’re trapped between family disapproval and intense love. Maybe she looks out for those that have doubts about their love." He lit the cigarette taking a drag. "Perhaps my sweet Mary doesn’t want anyone else to suffer the fate that she and Colin suffered." Gaze drifting to the window once more Mikolaj sighed faintly.

Sam gave Dean a knowing glance and motioned for him to move. With a quick nod Dean slid from the bench seat, Sam close behind him, as Paulina stood and gathered their [coffee cups](http://www.serverlogic3.com/lm/rtl3.asp?si=22&k=coffee%20cups). She smiled at them, nodded, and then disappeared through a doorway.

"Thank you Mr. Jankowski. We appreciate your time." Sam reached out squeezing the older man’s shoulder.

"You’re welcome." He spoke finally, reaching up to pat Sam’s hand, but his gaze never moved from the window.

***

Outside the sun was low in the sky and the wind had picked up as the melting snow had begun to freeze over once more. Sam shoved his hands deep in his pockets and looked upward at the darkening sky. Now he knew, he thought, she only appeared to those who had doubts.

"Hey, man."

Sam’s gaze lowered from the sky and met Dean’s as he joined him where he stood leaning against the Impala. "Do you believe him?"

Dean shrugged. "It would explain all the stories and also the reason no one’s ever been able to find a Mary that fit the bill buried in Resurrection Cemetery."

"Maybe." Sam sighed and straightened up, moving around to the passenger side. "Let’s go see Blake. He’s probably wondering where we’ve been."

Chuckling Dean opened the driver’s side door. "Nope. I called him and let him know we’d be held up." He slipped into the seat and shut the door, starting the engine.

Sam grinned and shook his head, giving the sky a final glance, and whispered. "Thank you, Mary." He whispered and then opened the door sliding into the car.

As the Impala pulled out and headed down the street, Sam shifted in the seat, one hand stretching out to rest on Dean’s thigh. He finally knew that it wasn’t the words, but the actions that spoke louder and meant more. Dean glanced down to where his brother’s hand rested, then back up at Sam with a grin that said everything Sam needed to hear, his right hand lowering to cover Sam’s.

~Finis~

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on the legend of Resurrection Mary one of the most famous of phantom hitchhiker stories too date. My description of Mary is based on first hand accounts from witnesses who have seen her. Justice, Illinois is an actual village just outside Chicago where all the following locations actually exist: I & M canal, the Tri-State Tollway, Resurrection Cemetery, Archer Avenue and O’ Henry’s Ballroom although it is now known as Willowbrook Ballroom. The legend dates back to the mid to late 30’s when driver’s claimed that a mysterious girl would try to leap on the running boards of their cars as they drove down Archer Avenue one of the borders of Resurrection Cemetery. Archer Avenue is considered the most haunted stretch of road in the Chicago Area. Resurrection Mary is the most documented case of a phantom hitchhiker, including reliable witnesses among which there are local police.


End file.
